


Lead Me Astray

by Keith Danger Kogane (StarshipCap)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Assassins, Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate!AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Templars, Violence, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipCap/pseuds/Keith%20Danger%20Kogane
Summary: Assassin Keith Kogane’s mission wasn’t particularly difficult. About what one would expect from the job, really. Yet, he still manages to fuck it up.In comes Takashi Shirogane, a soldier hired from overseas to guard the Galra generals that lord over London. He did not come all the way across Asia to be kidnapped by a grouchy assassin, but here he is.





	Lead Me Astray

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the Sheith Prompt Bang! It was crafted through much love of cool assassins, a big depressing dip in interest through s8, and incredible art from my paired artist. Despite the rough patches its been through, it’s here and I very much hope you enjoy reading it. There is some stunning art to go with this piece and as soon as my partner posts it, I will put a link here for you to enjoy!

Smoke and steam rose against the dull evening air. Endless chimnies billowed their massive plumes slowly towards the spire pierced sky and vanished into the rolling clouds that threatened thunder. Keith frowned at the looming storm and tugged his hood tighter over his head. He couldn’t afford to lose focus because of some unfavourable weather. Besides, the cramped buildings stretching up around him would shield him from the worst of the downpour.

Not far ahead was his target; it was a huge townhouse, freshly painted, but already blackened by soot. It stood in a neat row with its neighbours pressed to its sides, all identical save the flash of differently coloured curtains and elaborately styled front doors. Keith could see at the top of the three story building a window was cracked to let the chilly autumn breeze in. His entry point.

He would have to be careful. Being surrounded on both sides by inhabited buildings meant that he had to be silent lest the target get his voice in working order and shout for help.

After a quick glance around, Keith shook out his arms and began the trek around the houses. He would approach from the back of the buildings and climb over to the window. At least, he hoped he would.

The grimy alley behind the townhouses was deserted, aside from a scabby rat wiggling its whiskers at him before darting through a hole in the brickwork. Keith scowled at the gap and sighed. Now was not the time to be thinking about the state of the city. He turned his attention to the back of the townhouse.

Keith was confident in his ability to scale the wall, even when slippery patches of slimy plants would try to throw him back to the ground. To his luck, the designer of the house had decided that looking out the window at the crumbling exterior of another building wasn’t worth the glass. There were badly filled gaps in the brick and half-heartedly decorated lips running along the divides between the floors. Not the nicest back-of-a-building Keith had ever climbed, but most certainly not the worst.

It took him a good few minutes of carefully calculated handholds before he rolled onto the roof tiles. Half of them looked broken, of course. Did this guy ever perform any sort of basic maintenance on his house? Even the roof that stretched out either side of this section were taken care of. The paint must be a facade then, and the curtains. A trap?

Even if it wasn’t, Keith would be a fool to treat it like anything else. The Galra division of the Templars were situated in this city and they knew someone would be coming for this fucker eventually.

Speaking of fuckers, Keith could hear muffled laughter as he approached the front edge of the roof. He spared a moment to glance at the quickly emptying street before sliding down and around the window. Perhaps he had friends over? Templars could have friends, right? It’s not like they weren’t people. Either way, it could complicate things if there were others in the building.

A peek over the sill revealed an empty room.

Keith hauled himself as delicately as one could through the gap in the window and rolled across the carpeted floor. A large ornamental rug threatened to trip Keith up as he shuffled across to the door, but, with a glare, Keith managed to keep his footing and crouch in front of the keyhole.

He couldn’t see anyone in the hallway from where he was, but he was still on high alert as he inched the door open. It swung smoothly on its hinges. Keith leant around the door with his breath held high in his chest and his heart thumped uncomfortably.

When he couldn’t see anyone in the corridor either, he let out a sigh that ruffled his mask and made it damp. He hated when his mask got damp, it was the worst part about trying to hide his identity. An unfortunate side effect of being an assassin.

Regardless of the moistness of Keith’s mask, he had a job to do. Templars were having a right old jolly below him and at least one of them needed a knife in the throat.

Keith crept down the corridor with all the grace of a cat. He kept to blind spots and shadows and froze every time he thought he heard someone coming up the staircase. He was almost at this staircase, in fact, when someone cleared their throat and began to make their way up to Keith. Keith almost swore as he backtracked to the nearest door; one that took him to a lavishly decorated bedroom that smelled intensely of rum and flowers. The door here was silent too, and with a very careful closing, Keith found himself throwing himself under the draped blankets hanging off the side of the bed.

Heavy footsteps lead up to the bedroom door before it opened. Keith could see a sliver of boots clumping into the room before the guard turned and left again. He was safe. For now. Keith had to get out of that room before the guard came back past. Even better, Keith could go and take care of him before he could cause more hassle later on.

Weighing up the pros and cons of slitting the guard’s throat in one of the guest bedrooms was a quick decision as Keith wriggled free from the sheets and dust. It’d be quick.

And it was.

A flick of the wrist and the sound of his hidden blade piercing flesh was smooth and practiced and the spray of blood was limited to the guard’s clothes and some spots on a lavish rug by the bed.

Guard taken care of, Keith was somewhat more confident in the success of the mission.

That is until he poked his head around the corner at the bottom of the staircase.

Three finely dressed men sat facing a roaring fire; their jackets hung neatly in the corner and alcohol lapping gently in their glasses. The one furthest to the right was chuckling and swirling the amber liquid around and around. To the left, the man studied the fire studiously. The tall chair in the centre had it’s back to Keith. Nonetheless, a deep rumbling laugh echoed from it and a chunky arm dropped to hang off the side of the armchair. That would be Keith’s target, then.

General Sendak. A brute. He had worked his way up through the Templar ranks from a young age and gained the muscle to prove his battles, according to the intel. Difficult to face in direct combat due to the veritable tree trunks Sendak supported himself with. However, a clever nick to some important blood vessels and those powerful limbs would be wasting away.

The only issue was the other two.

They weren’t a part of this assignment, so all Keith could do is take a guess as to who they were. He didn’t pull up much more than that they’d been seen around with Sendak; potentially close allies or perhaps friends. Regardless, Keith needed to be careful.

From what he could see, one lone guard stood next to the top of the staircase to the ground floor, from what Keith could see. Sendak was a fool to leave himself so poorly guarded if Keith had already dealt with all but one of his guards. Keith almost laughed to himself as he took a deep breath and launched himself towards the central chair.

~~

Takashi Shirogane was having an utterly boring night. His charge had invited his ‘friends’ around for whiskey and cigars. Takashi uses the term ‘friends’ loosely. They were more like business partners. Sendak ran a good number of fighting rings around the city of London and had a hefty gang following, which of course lead to making some strategic friends in other Galra gangs. Still, the three of them enjoyed gathering for whiskey and cigars every few weeks to catch up on the latest illegal gossip.

Honestly, Takashi didn’t even know why he was here. Something about, “They’ll pay a lot for someone like you over in England, Takashi! It’s your duty to your family to go and earn money to support us all.” Either way, here he was, guarding some horrible men and sending all of his wages way back to Japan for the sake of his mother’s poor health.

The night was dragging. His good acquaintance, Eddy, had gone upstairs when Sendak’s keen-eared ‘friend’ thought he heard a noise. Some kind of thud, or so he said. Eddy was taking a while investigating, but that was just like him. Always lazing around wherever possible. Just the idea of seeing Eddy napping while standing up made Takashi wish he was in bed.

He was too busy yawning to see the start of the fight.

It seemed that one second the three men were chuckling quietly and the next all was in chaos.

Sendak sat grasping his throat with slippery fingers, writhing and spasming until he dropped from his chair to bleed all over the rich rug. The quieter of the ‘friends’ barely had time to drop his glass before a knife stuck out of his neck and the last of the three scrambled for some kind of weapon. He was instantly met with yet another blade and a swift end.

All Takashi could see was a blur of dark colours and pale skin by the time he gathered his senses enough to draw his rifle. By then, it was too late. A wicked knife was held to his throat and it drew a trickle of blood when he swallowed. Gazing down at the person behind the blade revealed burning violet eyes and the promise of a quick death.

That is until murder on two feet pulled back slightly. A rough voice asked, “who are you?” while Takashi took the space to take a breath.

“My name is Shirogane Takashi,” he answered, barely concealing the tremor that threatened to take over this voice. Seeing something as brutal and efficient as this man’s entrance shook Takashi down to the core. He never expected to actually see violence in his time in England! It was supposed to be safe and quiet, with the factories the most exciting thing he would see. God knew that after his army service if he could avoid a fight he would.

A long pause stretched between them as the man stared Takashi down. Finally, he lowered the blade somewhat and said, “Come with me.”

It was a short order, fairly easy to wrap your head around, but Takashi just stood there, mouth agape, unable to fathom the command.

With a frown, the man snapped, “Now. Or I’ll have to put you down too.”

That seemed to be just the wakeup call Takashi’s idling brain needed. With a start, he nodded and upon a scathing look at his rifle, dropped the gun to the floor.

“Why did you kill them?” Takashi asked haltingly, hardly able to pull his gaze away from the bodies slumped on the seats.

“They deserved it, they have done heinous things.”

Takashi was almost too afraid to ask, but he pulled on his last reserves of nerve and said, “Like what?”

“How does taking over London and turning the poor and wretched people of the city into damned addicts sound to you? What about setting up crime rings? Exploiting workers to their deaths for the sake of cheap labour? People are desperate and they take advantage,” the man spat. The rage in this voice seeped out into his stride as he stalked over to the window to look down at the street below.

“Oh,” was the most intelligent thing Takashi could offer at that moment.

“Is there anyone else here?” the man - assassin, Takashi’s mind finally supplied - demanded. He was digging through the drawers in the sideboard and pulling out any money he could find.

“Uh-” Takashi hesitated. Realistically, he didn’t want to be kidnapped by an assassin. He was very tempted to lie and say there was no one else here. However, there was one other guard posted downstairs by the front door. Takashi didn’t want him to get hurt! A glare shot up through tangles of escaped hair finalised his decision. “Yes, there should be a guard by the front door… He’s young though! Please, do not hurt him.” Takashi didn’t feel ready to battle this man for the life of the young guard, however, should push come to shove, he would do his best. There was a reason he was chosen to come here.

“I see.” He didn’t say anything else, only closed the drawer and looked up to the ceiling. “We’ll go through the roof.”

Takashi almost blurted out his distaste before he remembered the speed with which this man could move. He would have to go quietly and hope he was better at climbing buildings than he was trees.

‘What a situation’, Takashi thought as they climbed the stairs. Kidnapped by a deadly assassin in the first few weeks of his brand new, well-paid post as a guard. His family would soon be missing those wages... Well, if Takashi could survive this he was sure he could return to his post assuming he wasn’t actually assisting a massive crime syndicate in their rather successful plan to lord over London. Takashi didn’t think his parents would care that much about where he sourced it, as long as the money kept coming.

“Where are we going?” Takashi asked once they were on the roof. It had been a struggle to pull himself through the window with his admittedly pathetic leather armour on and as a result, he had to leave it behind. It left him feeling awfully vulnerable despite how flimsy it really was.

The assassin looked a bit surprised by that. Perhaps even he didn’t know where they were going. A series of emotions flickered across what was visible of his face before it settled on a troubled determination.

“Home.”  
~~~

Keith was fucked.

Keith was going to get killed for this.

Keith made probably the biggest mistake of his entire life and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

All it took was some pretty Eastern eyes and a look of bewilderment that was quite frankly endearing and now he had the muscliest chunk of trouble he had ever landed himself with tagging after him in the dark allies of London. Keith was absolutely fucked.

“I don’t mean to sound like a stuck record, but I really would like to know where you’re taking me. I’d also like to know why, if it's in your heart to tell me.”

He also never shut up.

Perhaps that was an exaggeration as the man was scared and in the process of being kidnapped. He had a bit of a right to be asking all these questions. Even though this was probably the shittest kidnapping Keith had ever had the misfortune to witness. He hadn’t even restrained his prisoner, he just told him to follow and the idiot did. Probably shock, Keith reasoned. That must be it.

Keith almost groaned when he spotted a gathering of hulking gang members at the end of the alley. They hadn’t spotted the two yet, but they would soon if Shirogane didn’t shut up.

Shirogane actually yelped when Keith smacked a hand down over his mouth and forced him into the side of the alley.

“You need to be quiet,” Keith growled. “Do you want them to hear us?”

A quick shake of the head was all Keith got before he spun Shirogane around and guided him back away from the gang.

Keith couldn’t help but feel he was dealing with a damn fool. The quicker they got back to base, the better.

It wasn’t until, after avoiding several more gang members, they were within sight of the Blades’ base, and Keith realised bringing a Galra soldier into the heart of the Assassin Resistance probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Change of plan,” Keith announced. He turned and grabbed Shirogane’s arm, dragging him back down the road they came. “We are going to see a friend.”

Shirogane was probably afraid, because he didn’t object or even ask who the friend was. He just trundled along behind with his mouth gaping like a fish. Keith didn’t know what had got himself into.

~~~

“Just a second!” Came a cheery voice from behind the door, followed by a collection of clattering sounds and an “ouch!” before the door cracked. “Who is it?”

“Who do you think?” Keith demanded. They hadn’t exactly come up with a stupid secret knock so that Samuel could ask who it was.

“Ho ho! I was only joking, my boy!” Samuel said with a laugh, pulling the door open. “Wait, who is this?”

The door swung back to half closed as Samuel spotted Shirogane looking exhausted and sweaty behind Keith. Keith sighed and said, “His name is Shirogane. He’s a friend of mine. He needs somewhere to stay.”

Samuel cleared his throat and slowly stepped back to let the two in. He glanced at Shirogane nervously, knowing the kind of friends Keith kept and asked, “Why here? Why not your place?”

“Just can’t,” Keith said, already shrugging his coat off and hanging it by the door. “He can stay in my room, right? I probably won’t need it.”

“Did someone come in?” came the voice of Colleen, Samuel’s beloved wife. She came down the stairs in her nightgown, an empty glass in her hand. She, too, was immediately wary upon seeing the soldier still shrinking into himself at the front door.

“Yes, Keith came home and brought his,” Samuel hesitated upon glancing at Shirogane’s dark shirt and trousers, “friend.”

“He’s called Shirogane,” Keith supplied.

“Just Shiro is fine,” Shirogane interrupted, looking somewhat mortified on his own behalf for interrupting a stranger.

Keith gave Shiro a long look before conceding. “Yes. Shiro. He is called Shiro.”

“I see,” Colleen muttered, setting the glass down on a side table. “Well, if he is a friend of Keith’s, he is a friend of ours!”

The mood in the room instantly brightened with Colleen’s acceptance. She was quick to busy herself preparing tea and delegating the task of making up Keith’s bed to the others. She moved like a whirlwind through the kitchen, and Keith didn’t want to stick around while she was around boiling water. He quickly hurried up the stairs and pushed open the door to his room.

It smelled musty, despite Colleen obviously cleaning it regularly just in case Keith came to stay. He didn’t need to often, but the Holts were insistent that Keith should have somewhere other than “that dark, dingy place you call a home”. It wasn’t dark and dingy. It was rather comfortable, but Keith didn’t want to correct them. Let them think Keith slept in gutters and under bridges when he wasn’t in the comfort of their home. Shiro followed quickly, not willing to let Keith get too far ahead of him lest he get lost in the hospitality.

“Put the sheet on the bed,” Keith instructed, fetching the bedsheets and passing them to Shiro. “I’ll find a quilt.”

But before Keith could leave the room, he found a hand on his shoulder pulling him back around.

“Why am I here?” Shiro asked, eyes burning with unanswered questions.

Keith didn’t have an answer.

“I won’t be long,” Keith said instead, leaving Shiro to stare after him as he swept down the corridor and into the shadows.

~~~

Shiro quickly busied himself with the bedsheets after Keith’s unnecessarily dramatic departure. There wasn’t much else to do. He couldn’t exactly just leave, not now that he had allowed his curiosity to bring him into the house of two incredibly kind strangers. Two strangers who thought he was friends with Keith the Assassin, nonetheless! Shiro really had made a bit of a mess of things.

Yet, there was something about what Keith had told him, back in the General’s home. Evil corrupting the entire city? Gangs dominating the streets? It was utter folly in the eyes of someone who had only seen the opulence of the rich neighbourhoods. The underground stayed underground as far as Shiro was concerned.

The cotton of the sheets was soft and well used as he spread them on the bed. They smelled of flowers and soap and had traces of old stains all over. Must be Keith, Shiro reasoned. Probably blood stains or something. Shiro didn’t particularly want to sleep in the strangers' house, but if he went back to the Galra now, unarmed and in the clothes of someone much thinner than him, there would be suspicion. He would rather risk the Galra coming after him than Keith’s apparent ire, anyway.

As the days passed, Shiro found himself settling well into his new residence.

Keith left often, usually staying out all night at least and sometimes not coming back for days at a time. Shiro always wondered where he went, but never asked. It was the scowl that seemed to be permanently affixed to his face when not in the company of the Holt’s youngest child, Katie, that kept him at bay. She was insistent that she would only be addressed as Pidge, however, ever since her older brother left to learn to be a doctor much like their parents. He was quick to fondly call her Pidge despite the barrage of fists that followed.

Shiro was often seen helping Colleen with washing sheets and cooking. It reminded him almost painfully of his grandparents back in Japan and the times he would spend helping them with chores in an effort to avoid his parents’ scolding. Folding sheets was his favourite chore. Colleen’s linen cupboard was quickly transformed from a relative pile into perfect stacks of crisp bed sheets and blankets by Shiro’s hand. It helped lessen the creeping anxiety he found crawling up his spine whenever he sat still too long and let his mind wander.

Pidge liked to stay in her room when she wasn’t out browsing the little market down the road. All Shiro heard was a variety of thuds and crashes; sometimes an explosion and a yelp. Pidge almost always emerged eventually with a grin on her face and something to ramble about at the dinner table, however.

The balance was easily found in the Holt household with their new guest, and life went on.

~~~

“Alright, and you’re sure you don’t need me to come with you?” Colleen asked, gently patting down Shiro’s lapels.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Shiro answered, giving her the most reassuring smile he could muster. He was only heading to the market for some vegetables; how hard could it be?

“Okay,” she relented with a small smile. “You come right back home if you need anything.”

Shiro’s smile turned soft at the mention of ‘home’. Yes, this was his home now. Even if he did feel like a prisoner at times, it was the closest he’d had to a home in months. He scooped up the basket at his feet and said, “I will. See you soon.”

Colleen waved him out the door as he left, not heading back inside until Shiro had disappeared around the corner. He was excited. It was one of the first times he was allowed to go shopping by himself after a good two months holed up in the Holt’s house. Keith had expressed a deep concern over Shiro’s wellbeing should he encounter any of the Galra thugs on the street. Apparently, there was word of Zarkon’s fury at his most promising and exotic new recruit disappearing into thin air floating around the city. It didn’t scare Shiro. His prowess in combat was, after all, the main reason he was selected to come all the way here.

It was a sunny day, too warm, perhaps, for the scarf he pulled against his nose if not for the biting autumn breeze. People milled around in the streets, shouting and clamouring and occasionally the yell of a carriage driver would echo off the tall buildings when some child got too close to the horses. There were little girls holding baskets of wilting flowers for anything anyone could spare; drunken men swaggering down the pavements with a bottle of everything they cared about sloshing down their fronts. Corseted ladies hung onto the arms of gentlemen in top hats - their coats didn’t quite touch the filthy ground. If you knew where to look, however, there were brutish men in grubby jackets scowling around empty barrels; and thin women with their hair scraped back balancing tall rifles behind their legs where they perched against walls and on rooftops. Night after night of Keith’s tales of the gang members made Shiro painfully aware of how persistent and suffocating their presence was in the city. No one else seemed to notice. Or care.

Regardless of the soot-smeared faces of the gang brutes, Shiro was on a mission and would not be turned back by their presence.

Vegetables for Colleen.

The market was modest, for the most part empty with the occasional hopeful thief being shooed away with furious shouts that sent shocks down Shiro’s spine. But it was fine. No one was yelling at him and that’s what mattered. He was here to buy some carrots and potatoes and maybe a leek if he was lucky enough to find one not rotten to the core. With real money. Money that he had been given by a real lady with a husband who had a real job. No reason to get stressed, Shiro told himself firmly.

The first few stalls as Shiro entered the market were full of trinkets and other odds and ends that he didn’t bother trifling with. He found some luck a bit further in, however with the bursting crates of dirt smeared potatoes and carrots and other root vegetables. Shiro immediately felt brighter upon spotting them, it wasn’t nearly as hard as everyone made it out to be. All he was doing was buying vegetables, not exactly a crime in any city.

“Good afternoon!” the vendor called, waving Shiro over eagerly with exaggerated hand gestures. “Looking for the freshest veg in London? They’re all right here!”

The man sounded like he was trying his best to cover a true London accent, layering on the Queen’s English as thick as Sam liked his jam on toast. It was jarring to Shiro, who hesitated before making his way over.

“Yes,” Shiro began, aware that he probably didn’t sound any more convincing with his poor imitation of how the Holt’s talked, “I was looking for some potatoes and carrots, actually.”

“Were you now?” There was a predatory glint to the vendor’s eye. “Seems I have just what you need.”

Shiro just nodded, looking over the vegetables carefully. He did not want to make a fool of himself with picking which ones to take home. God knew Shiro already had enough reasons to feel embarrassed.

It was after a great deal of deliberation, some tense haggling, and the hasty packing away of the vegetables that Shiro found himself done with his job for the day. That didn’t change the fact that Shiro wanted to stay outside for just a while longer. Not too long, he told himself, just enough to enjoy the sun and stretch his legs.

Of course, Keith would have scolded him for being careless and Shiro would be inclined to agree. However, not even the sensation of cold fingers creeping down his neck could shake him out of his determined wander.

“Hey!”

Shiro’s automatic reaction was to turn towards the yell and see what was going on, but he was quickly faced with a veritable army of thugs thundering down the street towards him. A wash of panic was quick to try to drown Shiro, but years of training to be a soldier wasn’t kind to weakness. A tall, hard wall shot up between Shiro and the panic as he spun on his toes and sprinted.

“Shit,” Shiro hissed, clutching the basket to his chest. He didn’t know if he could outrun them.

A glance thrown over his shoulder proved only to spur them on, grim expressions terrifying even as they began to lag behind. Shiro could hardly think at that moment, the only thing keeping his legs pumping and his shoes smacking the pavement was the innate need to survive that not even Shiro could block out with walls in his mind.

Hard left, double back to the left again and slide between the crates. The directions barely had time to settle into his brain before they were over.

Rough wood splintered and creaked around Shiro as he tried to calm his breathing. He could feel the harsh scratch of the planks digging into his hands and face, but it didn’t matter. Not when there was an entire gang of brutes running him down in the middle of London.

There were several beats of near silence where Shiro could only hear the sharp ringing in his ears before the gang members passed his hiding spot in a veritable stampede. He barely let himself breathe for a good five minutes when they’d gone past. He couldn’t afford to be hasty now, not while they were still hot on his trail for reasons Shiro was only now comprehending. They must have been looking for him; and his stupid desire to go to the market for Colleen had put not only him, but the Holts in danger.

He sucked in a breath.

Patience yields focus.

That was the mantra he had drilled into him during his time as a soldier for the Imperial Japanese Army and it was quick to rear its head whenever panic set in. Panicking was weak and weakness got you killed. Shiro had seen it.

“God, shit,” Shiro muttered, taking a good few minutes to calm himself. Now most certainly was not the time to be reminiscing about his dead friends and soldiers. In fact, it may be the worst time.

Shiro didn’t leave his hiding spot until his legs felt like jelly and his cheeks stopped tingling.

And he didn’t know where he was.

At least he had his vegetables...

  
~~~

Keith was quick to crowd into Shiro’s space when he finally returned, hissing, “Where the hell were you?”

“Out,” Shiro replied. He had nowhere to go and no one else was around.

“That was stupid. Fuckin’ hell.” Keith was practically growling at this point. He was furious, unable to tame the fire in his eyes. “What on God’s green earth made you decide to risk everythin’ like that?”

Shiro hesitated, breaking eye contact only to look for anyone to get him out of this situation. “Colleen wanted some vegetables,” he explained, gesturing to the messy basket still clutched to his side.

A second passed before Keith backed off, but fury still burned beneath his skin. Shiro could practically feel it radiating off him. How Keith ever became an assassin with this little restraint on his emotions, Shiro will never know.

In the space, Shiro could breathe. He felt his own anger rearing up in the back of his mind, but he took a deep breath and attempted to find some semblance of control. It was quick to crumble when Keith said, “you could have put everyone in danger. Colleen included. Did you even think before you went?”

Shiro bristled at that. Of course he knew what he was doing! He wasn’t a child. The accusations shot straight into a frayed and sensitive nerve right at Shiro’s core. He may not be a child, but he certainly felt like one in that moment. A defenceless child being smacked for his brother’s misgivings; locked in his room to stare at the ceiling because his parents found something lacking. They never told him what. The rare praises were overshadowed by a childhood of never being good enough. It was the entire damn reason he was here!

He couldn’t seem to catch his next breath. The day's events were quickly clawing over him and pulling all rational thought from his mind. Shiro felt tears building in his eyes and before he could think to do anything, he found himself staring at a wide-eyed Keith.

“Shit, are you okay?” Keith asked, quick to reach a faltering hand towards Shiro. “I’m- uh- sorry.” The apology was stunted and objectively shitty, but Shiro in all his panicked glory still appreciated it.

Between shaky half breaths and tears rolling down his cheeks, Shiro found himself lead to the bed he’d been occupying. Keith’s arms around his shoulders were stiff and awkward, but the gesture was deeply comforting and well appreciated. If only Keith had been there when home was too much and he couldn’t seem to find his way out.

Several minutes passed, only the sound of sniffing and the odd call from the street filling the space. Shiro felt much calmer. The panic had passed and Keith still had his arms firmly around Shiro’s shoulders despite the wet patch he’d left on Keith’s shirt. It was with a great strength that Shiro lifted his head without wiping his snotty nose on Keith’s shirt too.

Shiro couldn’t find words other than, “I’m sorry,” and even after he said them, they didn’t feel right.

Keith was silent and after wiping his nose and cheeks with a handkerchief from the side table, Shiro looked over to find him staring intently at his boots. His posture was closed off and Shiro couldn’t help the hurt creeping up on him.

“Keith,” Shiro started, “why didn’t you just kill me that day?” He couldn’t help the softening of his voice even as he shrunk in on himself. “After all this, God, I don’t know why you don’t just leave me.”

It was an old and recurring topic, one that Keith avoided like the plague. This time, however, he just sighed.

“You’re not from here,” he said, like it was an explanation. He only continued when Shiro wouldn’t stop staring. “You don’t know what the Galra have done. You don’t know who they work for, what their end is in England. There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Explain to me?” Shiro was pushing it, but he was hopeful.

Keith just shook his head, “We cannot let them succeed.”

~~~

It had barely been a week since Shiro’s incident when he was sitting in the parlour with Colleen. They were drinking tea and Colleen was sewing one of Pidge’s shirts. The calm was interrupted by a loud bang.

Shiro stood abruptly, knocking the delicate teacup to the floor to the tune of a shriek from Colleen.

“Keith!” he gasped, ignoring the scalding liquid seeping into his trousers in favour of catching Keith before his swaying took him to the floor.

“My god,” Colleen cried. Her hands flew to her mouth and she darted forward. “Keith, darling, are you okay?”

Keith gave her a slightly disbelieving look through bloodied hair before grimacing. A nasty slice ran across his thigh as well as a large wound seeping blood into his shirt; not to mention what looked to be a gunshot in his arm. His face was marred by several red and purple bruises that seemed to be spreading the longer Shiro looked. Keith’s coat was riddled with tears and rips and traces of gunpowder. Shiro gulped as he looked to Colleen.

“What’s happening?” came an alarmed voice from the staircase. Pidge, of course, was thundering down in a nightdress and a ragged coat.

“Nothing,” Keith tried to say, however, he was quickly shushed by Colleen’s unsuccessful attempts to shoo Pidge back up the stairs.

Shiro gave Keith an incredulous look as he ducked under his blood splattered arm to lug him up the stairs. The first stop was to be the bedroom; somewhere for Keith to lay down and strip his bloodied clothes before the doctoring began.

Of course, when the doctoring did begin, Shiro was rushed around fetching clean water and cloths and different medical supplies he hadn’t even heard of. Every time he was hurried out of the room and the Holts’ brows were furrowed, Shiro felt a spike of anxiety shoot through his stomach. What had Keith done?

It was roughly two hours later that Keith was sleeping lightly on fresh sheets; Shiro sat in the corner of the room with dark bags under his eyes and an attentive gaze set on Keith.

Shiro didn’t know what to do. He had been tasked with making sure Keith didn’t get up and go wandering while his wounds healed. If he so much as breathed too heavily, Keith would furrow his brow and shift around in the bed. So for now, he was stuck in the corner, watching Keith and making sure he recovered his energy. There were, of course, things that Shiro couldn’t help doing while he sat in that slightly dusty corner. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander up to Keith’s face, soft in sleep but scarred and stubbly. He saw how delicately Keith’s eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he screwed his eyes up, and how his dry lips would part and smack together when it seemed his dreams were becoming too real. With his mane of black hair falling off his face Shiro could, too, see how expressive his eyebrows were even in sleep. It such was a captivating sight to be able to sit and experience such a fierce warrior in a vulnerable state that Shiro ended up sitting there until dawn broke over the spires of the city and lit up the room.

“Ow, shit…” Shiro swore as he stretched his arms and back. A colossal crack jolted Keith out of his sleep.

“What the hell?” Keith demanded as he bolted upright, immediately regretting it as everything pulled and hurt.

“Hey, careful,” Shiro chastised. “You only just started healing.”

Keith was silent for a few moments while he seemed to take stock of the situation before saying, “I need to get back out.”

Shiro frowned and stood. His knees ached and a sudden dizziness almost overtook him, but he was prepared for it. Working the night shift often gave him this same set of ailments, he was used to it.

Keith’s eyes followed Shiro as he made his way over to the pile of medical supplies Colleen had meticulously arranged for Keith the night before. Shiro picked up a bottle of alcohol and a cloth and said, “You need to get cleaned up. Let me see your wounds.”

Keith immediately protested, claiming he was perfectly capable of doing it himself and trying to swipe the cloth from Shiro’s hands.

“That’s not the point,” Shiro stressed. “You need to let someone look after you. After all you’ve done to help me see what I was doing and save me from those bastards, I think it’s high time the gesture was returned, don’t you?”

Silence.

“Move your legs here so I can get to it,” Shiro asked as he pulled the chair over to sit next to Keith’s legs.

After a beat of silence and not a move from Keith, Shiro glanced up and found his gaze captivated by the most beautiful sight of Keith, hair hanging around his sharp face, biting his bottom lip as he stared at Shiro. Shiro, yet again, did not know what to do. Should he look away? Just stare? Should he move closer? Was there even a proper guide to etiquette in these situations? To answer that himself, probably not.

Keith’s eyes were shining and he dropped his gaze to his lap where the wound had bled through to his trousers. He slowly pulled it back to reveal the mess of bandages left after a night’s tossing and turning.

“Sorry,” Keith said with a cough. “I didn’t intend to make such a mess.”

“It’s fine, Keith,” Shiro replied, already getting to work. “I’d be more surprised if it stayed pristine. I’ve seen plenty of the guards make a bigger mess of a paper cut.”

Keith chuckled and groaned at that, clutching what must be bruised ribs.

Shiro smiled and got to work, cleaning and rebandaging the wounds with a gentle touch and plenty of glances at Keith’s face to check he wasn’t overstepping a boundary. It didn’t seem he was, even as he moved to sit on the bed in order to better reach Keith’s chest wound.

Only when Shiro tugged at Keith shirt did the furrowed brow deepen and a flush creep up Keith’s face.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked, watching as Keith’s face reddened further and further.

“Yea-yeah,” Keith mumbled, pulling the shirt open for Shiro.

Shiro did his best to hide the matching blush that was blooming down from his ears and up from his neck as he wrapped the wound. He was quick to button up Keith’s shirt and move his chair back to the corner of the room when he was done.

“Well, you’re all done!” Shiro said, moving to exit the room as quickly as possible in a desperate hope that Keith hadn’t seen the embarrassing blush that overtook Shiro from seeing a more than attractive man shirtless.

“Shiro, wait,” Keith called just before Shiro could slip away. “I- uh… Thanks. For cleaning me up. I appreciate it.”

Shiro couldn’t even turn around, simply nodding vigorously and making an awful little squeaking sound before he could escape.

~~~

Keith couldn’t believe his eyes.

Sat before him, not five minutes ago, was one of the most attractive people he had ever seen - impressive considering his general lack of interest - cleaning his stupid wounds. And he had been blushing. Keith didn’t know what to do with this information.

He flopped back down onto the bed - god bless the Holts’ and their miracle medicine - and found his ears were still scalding hot. How embarrassing…

And yet, he didn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would. He even found it within himself to let out a breath of a giggle. A frown was quick to replace it, however, as Keith scalded himself for getting so distracted. It was because of silly little distractions like this that he had ended up in this situation. He couldn’t help but think back on what had happened with a sour turn to his mouth.

Softly, ever so softly, Keith crept across the tiles on the roof. They were loose and one wrong step would send him careening down the building to his death.

A glance up at his destination gave him confidence as it approached far quicker than he had expected; too busy concentrating on his feet to keep track of how far he was. Regardless, the looming factory building leered at him from the end of the street, its high windows clouded with smoke and dirt. What Keith could see of the roof was worse than what he was currently scrambling across.

“Bollocks,” Keith hissed under his breath. The roof had been his first way in, but the risk of falling through it was too great. Instead, he would have to find an open window, lest he charge in the front door like a fool.

This small shred of luck came to Keith in the form of a tiny little venting window in the very corner of the building, almost too small for Keith to slip through with his sword still attached to his hip. Some very careful maneuvering and prayers to whatever gods existed let him slide in with his sword clutched to his chest. Now for the hard part.

The Blades had assigned Keith this mission based on the resounding success of his last assassination; on how smoothly he had managed to slip in and out without anyone finding out. Considering how it actually went, Keith was a fool for accepting this new mission to slit the throat of the Galra leader’s son, Lotor. But Keith couldn’t refuse, so here he was.

The halls on the upper floor of the factory were silent, save shouts from the streets echoing up the building. From what Keith had seen of the floor plan, the office should be on this floor with most of the manufacturing taking place on the ground floor. He found it difficult to orient himself what with every corridor looking as dingy and dusty as the last, but eventually a sturdy looking door in a crumbling frame came into view.

That must be it, Keith thought, slinking forward. All that was left was to assassinate Lotor. Easy.

Indistinct whispers seeped from the cracks in the walls. Shit, there were at least four men in that room. Keith wasn’t even sure Lotor was here; it was a calculated risk on the blades part to send anyone in when Lotor’s schedule was so closely guarded. No matter, either Lotor was here as suspected or he wasn’t. Whatever happened, Keith would slaughter everyone in that room and escape unscathed. Hopefully. Very hopefully.

Keith took a steadying breath and drew his sword.

It was a flurry of activity. The second the door slammed back into the wall, six large men turned on Keith, guns already drawn. Keith barely had time to throw himself out of the way of the first volley of bullets before he danced towards the rifleman. A quick snap of his wrist saw his sword cut through the gunman's belly and the rifle drop to the floor. Turning on the next brute, Keith was barely aware of a bullet grazing his arm. He passed his sword to his left hand and made a ferocious attack on anyone within his reach.

“Fuck!” yelled one of the men as he clutched at his leg. Keith didn’t turn to look, too busy slashing at a taller man bearing two swords.

Keith was all instincts, too focused on the here and now to see the man who had yelled dragging his gun around to line up a shot.

Bang!

“Oh!” Keith gasped, immediately reaching down to touch the hole that had been ripped through the side of his torso. A panic rose in his chest and he didn’t feel the slice to his thigh as he stumbled.

Adrenaline was the only thing Keith had left to drive him now, slashing wildly through the air as he stumbled towards the door. Keith’s bloodied hand struggled to grasp his pistol, but he turned it on the last man standing in the room. Another bang sounded and it was the only thing Keith could hear as he balanced himself along the wall in a hasty escape.

“Shit,” Keith mumbled, tears welling in his eyes as he tripped. “Oh, fuck.”

He didn’t let his eyes slip shut despite the heavy drag he could feel pulling them down millimetre by millimetre. Despite the fog swirling around his brain and his sight, he was keenly aware that stopping here would mean certain death. He would get back to Shiro and the Holt’s no matter what.

Keith would guess it was that thought alone that took him all the way to the door and Shiro’s shocked face.

~~~

There was an awkward cough from the door as Shiro stood with a tray in hand and clean clothes underarm.

Keith barely turned to look and in a haze of pain said, “Hey.” He didn’t remember that afterwards.

“Good morning,” Shiro greeted with a smile. He was quick to place the tray on the side table and fetch a bottle of thick, viscous liquid. It was brown. And smelly. “Sam advised me to get this in you as fast as possible before you go delirious with pain.”

Keith almost barked out a laugh, but the infernal pain that radiated from his everything quickly turned it into an I’m-very-sorry-for-myself groan. He felt like there was molten rock in his stomach and little fiery insects crawling up his arms and legs. Upon waking up this morning, he could barely tell up from down, let alone remember what the hell had happened to him to give him such a fiercely pounding headache and make it feel like his entire being was on fire.

“Quiet,” Shiro quickly admonished, giving Keith a semi-serious glare over the spoon. “Take your medicine, it will help. I promise.”

And the lilt in Shiro’s voice and the gentle smile on his lips was enough that even Keith couldn’t refuse the horrid concoction that made his toes feel numb. He almost spat it up, but a look from Shiro had him obediently swallow it.

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asked. He was already setting about the task of undressing and cleaning Keith’s wounds.

“Better,” Keith admitted, he felt Shiro’s hands like a ghost over his skin.

“Good. Sam told me you should be fit to go out again in no time. You are very lucky that bullet hit only your flesh, and not your guts,” Shiro explained patiently. The longer they went, the more hazy and foggy Keith’s mind became, until Shiro’s voice was naught but a soothing white noise and any thought that came to him was quickly whisked away behind a wall of mist. All of Shiro’s carefully prepared explanations of his wounds and how long it would take to heal faded into tranquility and Keith saw only the dark sweeping hair hastily tied away from Shiro’s face.

“Like silk,” Keith said.

“Sorry?” Shiro asked, still busy perfecting the bandage in his arm.

“Hair like silk and spider webs. And eyes that sparkle. You have a nice face.” Keith was half asleep, mumbling almost incoherently.

It was enough to send a violent blush exploding to life on Shiro’s cheeks.

“You-you do not know what you’re saying!” Shiro was quick on the defence, brushing an errant lock of hair out of his own face before huffing. “I think the medicine messed up your brain, Keith.”

“‘Course not!” Keith argued, albeit with all the fight of a newborn foal. “My eyes say you’re the prettiest man I ever had the pleasure of seein’ and my eyes ain’t wrong. Just you wait, Shiro,” Keith had a warning tone in his voice, “a handsome man will sweep you off your feet if you ain’t careful.”

“I do not enjoy the company of men!” Shiro spluttered, eyes darting to the door.

“Sure you do.” Keith laughed sleepily. “I know your kind. I’m the same.”

Shiro could do nothing but stare open-mouthed as Keith finally passed out once again.

~~~

Well, he wasn’t wrong. It was just the idea that a Keith drugged out of his mind could so sharply perceive such a deeply hidden aspect of himself that terrified him. It wasn’t proper. And yet…

A seed of hope was planted with the way Keith smiled sleepily and told Shiro his hair was like silk and spider web. The way Keith told Shiro they were the same; two outcasts of the same flavour hiding together from everything bad in the world. It made Shiro’s heart feel light, like he was floating on air as he escaped to the kitchen to wash dishes for Colleen.

“How’s Keith?” It was Pidge, hair ruffled from sleep still. “Mum told me I’m not allowed to see him until he’s better.”

“He is fine,” Shiro answered. He made sure to hide the flush on his cheeks by busying himself with the washing.

There was a pause, and then Pidge sat at the table with a loud exclamation of, “Good, I guess. I mean, I think I’d rather be in bed than doing embroidery lessons. ‘It’s important for your future!’ mum says. Important, my ass.”

“Pidge!” Shiro cried as he spun around. “Watch your language!”

Pidge just cackled, wiping an errant sud from the table, “Sure, sure. Like you’ve not done worse.” She threw him an unimpressed look at this. Shiro frowned.

The dishes quickly ran out and Shiro dried his hands on a rag before sitting across from Pidge.

“Hey,” Pidge said softly. Shiro must be showing more of his melancholy than he thought if Pidge was being so gentle. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Shiro replied with a wrinkle of his brow. There really wasn’t anything wrong. He was just deep in thought about the situation with Keith. That was something he really did not want to share with Pidge no matter how kind her eyes were. “Just thinking.”

Pidge hummed. “Well, stop it. It’s bringing down the room.”

Shiro snorted at that. He supposed Pidge was better at cheering him up than he gave her credit for. It only took him another minute before he stood up and said, “Thanks, Pidge.”

“Wait, what for?” Pidge asked, eyes wide and staring after him as Shiro strode out of the room.

He didn’t reply.

~~~

Keith was ready. He was more ready than he had ever been in his entire life. So why, on God’s Green Earth, was Shiro blocking the doorway so resolutely.

“What the hell, Shiro,” Keith snapped, trying to slip past.

“You’re not healed yet!” Shiro exasperated, grabbing Keith by the shoulders. “You should be resting for at least another week before you go anywhere.”

Keith was antsy. Well, antsy was an understatement. He felt like there were actual ants under his skin. He’d been confined to the house for a month now to recover from his wounds and he felt fine. The scars were fresh and pink, but not open and that’s what mattered. So why wouldn’t Shiro let him out?

“For fuck’s sake,” Keith hissed, trying once again to slip under Shiro’s grasp and escape the bedroom. “Let me go, I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t!” Shiro retorted. He was stronger than Keith; a horrible side effect of being practically bedridden for a month was having his muscles deteriorate to the point where he couldn’t shake the hands off his shoulders that were guiding him back to the bed. “You need to stay here and recover your strength.”

Keith glowered at Shiro as he sat on the bed with more force than necessary. Really, Keith just needed to see the Blades. The order would be beside themselves with worry or anger that Keith had vanished for an entire month after his last mission. They probably assumed him dead. Well, he wasn’t. He was quietly fuming as Shiro held him down by his shoulders and gave him a disapproving look.

“Look, I don’t need the medicine anymore, do I? So, I’m fine!” Keith insisted. He couldn’t shake Shiro’s hands, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. In fact, a traitorous voice in his mind said, ‘you love this’. (So what if he did? That was none of the rest his mind’s damn business.)

“That’s not how this works, Keith,” Shiro sighed. God, if he was going to pull that card then Keith might as well give up now. Except he wouldn’t, because who was he if not tenacious to the point of destruction.

“Please,” Keith whispered. He looked Shiro in the eye and found he couldn’t look away without a sharp tug pulling on his heart.

“I’m sorry, Keith.” Shiro was apologising, but Keith didn’t think he knew exactly why. Probably the overwhelming frustration and confusion that plagued Keith’s features. He was never very good at hiding his emotions. Shiro was, but months of fiercely guarding someone out of a sense of duty turned affection gave Keith an insight into the twitch of his eyebrow and the downturned corner of his lip. Shiro was sad, too.

“Why are you sad, Shiro?” Keith asked, lifting his hands to hold Shiro’s wrists - his grip was still firm and warm on Keith’s shoulders.

“I- I’m not sad,” Shiro stuttered. He still didn’t look away from Keith, though.

“You look sad.”

“I’m not.”

Keith took a moment to contemplate. “Then what?”

“I’m...,” Shiro paused to take a breath, “worried.”

That surprised Keith. What on Earth did Shiro have to worry about? Other than the obvious reasons: being captured by the Templars was bad, the Galra were worse. So he asked, “why?”

Shiro seemed to be warring with himself, a mighty battle between two conflicting sides of his mind. It took him a minute to regain his train of thought, it seemed, before he said, “I’m worried about you, Keith.”

And with that confession came a rush of emotion that Keith didn’t know what to do with. It took him a moment to even understand what he’d said, let alone the waterfall of implications that fell behind it; months of late night meals shared over the kitchen table, soft touches as bandages were peeled back and new ones smoothed on, fond glances caught as Keith left for the Blades’ base.

Keith’s next breath caught in his throat and he didn’t know what to do other than pull Shiro towards him and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’m worried about you too, Shiro,” Keith admitted. He didn’t need to, but the tension in Shiro’s shoulders melted away with those words.

Shiro’s lips curled up in a smile as he brought his hand to Keith’s jaw. “I’m glad,” he whispered before leaning down to press a kiss to Keith. He brushed his lips past Keith’s forehead as he gently pushed Keith back onto the bed. “Rest, Keith,” he said. Another soft touch to Keith’s face and then Shiro was ducking out of the room, leaving Keith in an odd dream state of satisfaction and sunset clouds.

~~~

“Do you have to go?”

Shiro was upset. Keith had told him the night before that he was to attempt a second assassination on Lotor, a secret spilled in fiery kisses and harsh pants. Lotor was the reason Keith came back from his last mission beaten and bloodied.

“Yes,” Keith replied, trailing a slow finger up and down Shiro’s cheek. They were laying face to face on Keith’s bed.

“Will you at least introduce me to this organisation you work for when you get back? I don’t think my heart can cope with seeing you leave again after this.” Shiro was mumbling, still in the thick haze of sleep and dragging himself out.

“Of course,” Keith agreed. It was easy to agree. Shiro was powerful and strong and a natural born leader. If anyone would fit into the Order it would be Shiro. That didn’t mean Keith didn’t feel a twinge of fear pull at his heart, but he would be safer within the safety of the Blades’ base than in the Holts’ house, Keith decided. “As soon as I return we will get a nice carriage and it will take us all the way across London. Then we will walk along the Thames until our feet hurt and we’ve gathered so many flowers from the street urchins that our pockets are bursting. And then we shall make our way to the Blades’ base and we will be exhausted and so sleepy that we will be sent straight to bed. In the morning, I’ll wake you up with a kiss and we will prepare for the day like we have all the time in the world.”

A smile spread across Shiro’s face as he drifted back into the world of sleep. What an ideal day it would be, learning about Keith’s life outside the Holts’ home and the people Keith had pledged his life to. The comforting strokes of calloused fingers across his forehead and down his cheeks were quick to finish the work of sending Shiro back to a fuzzy daze.

Keith allowed himself a mere few minutes to appreciate the butterfly wing delicacy of Shiro’s sleeping eyelids and the way his hair fell in webs across his face before he pulled himself off the bed and out of Shiro’s warm arms. Keith had a mission to do and by God he would survive if this is what he was to come home to.


End file.
